The Tribune
by V. M. Rodriguez
Summary: AU. OC. WWII. After suffering a tragic accident on the battlefield, Bulgarian Corporal Joanna Dobreva learns that the simple way of life is not what it used to be and that sacrificing yourself for a dying country is perhaps the most shameful way to end your legacy on the world.


_**A/N: **Hello again! This is a one-shot that was inspired by a dream I had after watching the film "Valkyrie" (awesome movie, by the way) and watching a ton of World War II documentaries. This one-shot's main character is an OC and Ludwig (Germany) is the only Hetalia character that appears. I know that women did not fight in the Bulgarian army and that this may be a bit-if very-inaccurate viewpoint on history, but like I said, it was inspired by a dream and I thought it might go good with the story. Reviews and criticism are welcomed. Thanks!_

_**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters, the only thing that belongs to me are the two OC's I have managed to make up during the writing process. _

_~ V.M.R._

* * *

She has no trouble remembering that day.

That time that shouldn't even have the honor of being called a _day_. More like Hell coming to Earth. The skies reigned with fire as the gunshots echoed and the groans of dying men came at her from all directions, the pleas for mercy sometimes even worse than actual bullets themselves.

She lay now on her stomach in a low trench on the blood-soaked ground. She positioned her rifle forward and shot three men in an oncoming mob. She looked to her left and saw the corpse of a young man with blood-soaked hair and glossy eyes that were wide open. His rifle was still drawn around his shoulder, ready to fire. Two red bullet wounds stood prominent against the pale skin in his clammy forehead. She felt hands at her shoulders and immediately turned onto her back, her rifle position in the air, her finger on the trigger. She lowered the rifle when she saw the familiar uniform of her ally.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The voice was deep and angry. She immediately recognized it as one of her comrades in the training camp. He was a tall man, athletic, with bright blonde hair and sky blue eyes. She only spoke with him a couple of times, but didn't know much about him.

Only his name, rank, and where he came from: Ludwig Beilschmidt. Lieutenant. Berlin, Germany.

To be honest, that's all he knew about her as well. Joanna Dobreva. Corporal. Sofia, Bulgaria.

Her eyes narrowed at his question.

"I'm fighting for my country, idiot! What are _you_ doing?"

He gripped the collar of her army uniform and planted her to her feet. A land mine exploded near them and showered bits of earth and spots of blood on them. She could feel her braid loosening against the harsh dry winds, carrying dirt that formed a thin layer of grime on her face. She scowled as Ludwig pulled her forward.

"Move forward! Can't you see them advancing?"

Joanna looked back and saw the enemy advancing. So many Allied armies charged through the battlefield and all Joanna could hope for was to shoot them efficiently enough to kill them. Without turning forward to run beside Ludwig, she ran backwards, aiming her gun at the enemies. Pulling the trigger multiple times, she managed to hit and knock down only a couple Allied soldiers. She quickly reloaded the gun. She aimed, she shot, she killed. It became almost automatic.

_There's only one reason why I am keeping a woman in this army_, the Colonel had said. _It's because you've got good aim, you run fast, and you don't quit._ Along with Joanna, there was only twelve other women in the entire squad. They have been taught to kill and now had no trouble doing it. In fact, it was easier than anything Joanna had ever done. And knowing that made her sick.

When she was getting ready to send another rain of bullets in her enemy's direction, a loud blast sounded through the air with an ear-splittingly loud crescendo.

The trouble with this is that she had been exactly two inches away from it.

She couldn't remember much else. Only that she was now lying in the dirt, her blood pouring and soaking the ground like rain. She felt her mind disconnect from her body and she couldn't move. All she heard was a loud ringing in her ears and a foggy tunnel of vision presenting itself in her right eye.

Without warning, she felt something swoop over her, gathering her in a vice grip, and flinging her over a hard surface.

It took her a moment to register the fact that someone had thrown her over their back and was running away from the battlefield. With the little strength she had, she rammed her elbows into the person's shoulder blades.

"Put me down!" Her voice was weak and drowned out by the sounds of another distant explosion, but she had no problem hearing the deep, low voice that responded.

"No comrade is left behind."

Ludwig. Anger boiled in her blood as she weakly struggled against him.

"Leave me here!" she shrieked in anger. "Put me down now or I'll never forgive you!"

Ludwig scoffed at her. "_Du bist lächerlich!_"

Everything blurred and faded into a gradual whiteness.

* * *

Joanna opened her eyes to bright lights.

The sickly white of the lights burned against her pupil and she cringed against the brilliance. She felt a strange weight against the left side of her face and a strange numbness in her left hand. She heard two voices from a distance. One, she recognized from the tone, was a doctor. The other was her sister.

"…suffered critical injuries to her head. Her left hand was lost, as were the last two fingers on her right hand. She is required to use this brace on her right leg in order to walk…we couldn't save the left eye…"

She heaved in a breath and cringed at the sudden pain stinging in her chest. She felt a shadow fall over her.

"Joanna? Joanna can you hear me?" It was the doctor. Joanna closed her eyes and nodded sleepily. She felt exhausted, yet she wasn't ready to fall asleep. She brought her right hand to the strange heaviness pressed against the left side of her face, fingering the rough white bandage that wrapped around her head and covered her empty left eye socket. She opened her eyes and held out her hand, seeing through her blurred vision only three fingers. Her left ring and pinky finger were gone, replaced with stumps that were wrapped in heavy white bandages. She only raised her right eyebrow.

"How are you feeling, Joanna?" It was her sister who asked. Joan lifted her left arm upwards and wasn't surprised to see that the doctor was right. Her left hand was gone, the stub also draped in rough whiteness. She glanced down at her legs. Her left leg was only bandaged at the ankle while her right leg from her knee-down was wrapped in a strange brace-like contraption. She could see some of the metal hinges hooking themselves tightly to the side of her knee and ankle bone. She could do nothing but sigh at it all, really unsure how to react to the whole situation.

She had risked almost losing her life and also her fellow soldier's, and for what? For a country that didn't even exist anymore.

The Kingdom of Bulgaria: _Bog e s nas_. God is with us. What a despicable lie.

"Joanna, say something," her sister pleaded. Joanna tore her mind from its musing and slowly turned her head to her sister. At first, she did nothing but stare at her. Her eyes matched Joan's perfectly, a deep seal brown that seemed bottomless. Every time Joanna looked at her sister, she was reminded of her mother. Neva was the exact replica of their mother, except Neva was constantly uptight, something their mother never was. Ever since their parents died, this edginess seemed to eat Neva away from the inside as she seemed to feel the need to take over the household completely. This would have been alright with Joanna if Neva wasn't so adamant about her joining the First Bulgarian Army. Even now, Joanna railed against the meaningless excuses Neva threw at her to prevent her from joining.

_You're too young. They'll never accept a woman. The gun weighs more than you do._

Although, looking at her current condition, Joanna had begun to wish that she listened to her.

"Joanna!" Neva called out firmly, her voice trembling. Joanna blinked heavily and opened her mouth.

"Hello, Neva…"

Neva's bottom lip trembled and her eyes became glassy, but no tears fell. She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Joanna's forehead. Joanna reached up with a slow moving hand and stroked her three fingers across Neva's forehead. She almost smiled.

Neva gave a small, half-smile and held Joanna's misshapen hand softly in her grasp.

"I'm sorry, Joanna," she whispered. Joanna only shook her head. She glanced towards the doorway and noticed that, instead of a doctor, it was Ludwig. Joanna's first instinct was to yell at him for saving her, for ignoring her pleas to leave her on the battlefield and saving her when she never wanted to be saved! But seeing the bandages around his head softened her a bit. She scowled at him, nonetheless.

"I see you're doing better," he remarked. Joanna simply glowered at him. Neva left Joan's side and came forward towards Ludwig. She boldly grabbed his hand from his side.

"_Blagodarya_," she said to him while shaking his hand. "Thank you very much for saving my little sister's life."

Ludwig solemnly shook his head.

"No, I—"

"_Yes_, you did," Neva insisted. "She wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." Ludwig looked back at the young girl glaring at him. He wanted to laugh at how amusing it was to see the little girl's face contort in anger, like a puppy pretending to be a wolf. But instead, he only returned a look of what could only be classified as respect. This girl was only eighteen, much younger than him, and already sacrificed more than he has in a lifetime. He's pretty sure that if his older brother Gilbert was here, he'd be smiling and laughing, patting her on the back and calling her a "good sport" or a "tough broad." Yes. Yes, the girl is a "_tough broad_." Ludwig only nodded at Neva's persistence. He came forward towards Joanna's bedside and pressed a silver badge and ribbon in her bonded hand.

"Your Colonel heard of your condition and of the sacrifice you've made. He would like you to accept that as a gift."

Joanna brought the badge up to her eye and felt the cold metal between her thumb and middle finger.

"A gift?" she said.

Ludwig only nodded as Neva came to her little sister's side and solemnly stared at the empty space where her left hand should have been. She touched the white bandage covering the remains of her left arm. Joanna turned and weakly held Neva's hand. Neva looked up to see her with an unwavering look in her eyes. A look that said, "Don't be sorry for me." Neva only nodded and held tightly onto her sister's remaining fingers, as if determined to never let them go again. Ludwig shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if he was intruding on a rather tender moment between two sisters. He ducked his head and stepped away from Joanna's bedside.

"Excuse me," he grumbled.

He marched out of the room quickly and disappeared down the hospital corridor. Joanna and Neva hardly gave him any mind and stared at each other for a while longer before Joanna slowly loosened her fingers from her sister's hold and looked again at her medal. She recognized this. The Colonel wore one on his breast. It was a Grand Cross of the Order, one of the highest rated medals of bravery in the First Bulgarian Army. Joanna wanted to crush and twist the trinket in her remaining hands. She wanted to yell that she fought for nothing, her country was dissolving into a mad fantasy land, what reason did she have to accept this?

Neva saw the secret anger rage behind her sibling's eyes and made a move to quench it by slowly removing the badge from Joanna's tight hold. She set it down gently on the table beside the bed. She leaned over her sister and gently pushed the hair from her forehead, forlornly inspecting the bandage covering what used to be her left eye. She smiled sadly and rested her palm on Joanna's left cheek.

"I'll be back soon." She leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Joanna's cheek before slowly walking out of the room.

* * *

Three long months passed. Three months spent in that wretched hospital bed where the doctor made his daily visits to check up on his patient. He had said multiple times that Joanna was incredibly lucky to be alive and that she would have died if her companion hadn't lifted her off the battlefield. Joanna only shrugged when he said that.

She was happy when she finally got to take the bandages off her face and hand. She inspected the right hand carefully, moving her three fingers and hardly even sparing a glance at the missing two. She looked down at the remaining stump where her left hand had once been. She heaved a sigh and said nothing.

Then, when the doctor said that it was time for the eye bandage to come off, Joanna made no sound or remark as the result was unveiled. An empty eyelid drooped over her empty socket, but it was nothing gruesome like she had imagined. Yes, there were a few scars on the left side of her face here and there, one thin scar striking defiantly through her left eyebrow, but other than that, nothing critical drove through Joanna's mind. The doctor was amazed at her composure throughout the entire procedure, even more so praising her for not once losing her self-control over her obvious handicaps. Joanna smiled at his praises, choosing to say nothing as he gave her a black eye patch.

She was walking alright with the brace attached to her right leg. As she was pacing around the room, getting a feel for the brace, the doctor explained to her that her leg would be useless without it and that if she wanted function in her right leg, she would have to wear it at all times. The alternative was sitting in a wheelchair for the remainder of her life, and Joanna had no intention of doing so. On one of these observed "Exercising Days" in her bedroom, Joanna looked out the window of her hospital room and for the first time, noticed she wasn't in the familiar streets of home.

"Where exactly am I?" she asked. The doctor looked up briefly from his clipboard.

"Munich."

She looked out the window again and observed the German life below. It was entertaining, but she could only look at passing cars so much. She limped around the room for a few more weeks before Neva came and happily informed Joanna that she would be able to wander around the hospital and would be out in a few weeks. Joanna hobbled around the other hospital rooms on her own free time, but quickly resorted to staying in her room after seeing the other rooms crowded with wounded and dead soldiers. The sight was sickly.

At times, she received visits from Ludwig, who congratulated her on her badge and ribbon of bravery. He came one day with a silver and golden badge and ribbon in his hand. Joanna glanced down at it and recognized it as the 2nd Class Military Cross for Bravery.

Wonderful. The last thing she wanted was another empty reward. He held it out to her.

"From your Captain."

Joanna shook her head. "I don't deserve it."

Ludwig didn't seem shocked by the refusal. "Take it," he said. "It's yours."

"I. Don't. Want. It." If looks could kill.

She looked away from the badge, but a stubborn Ludwig put it at the table beside her hospital bed nonetheless.

"Stop being a child," he said. Joanna looked up at him through bleak eyes.

"How can I? It's what I am."

Ludwig had no response to that and instead chose to leave the room. He could easily see in Joanna's young eyes that she had lost all persisting loyalty to her country. The thirst for rendering honor to Bulgaria had completely vanished along with her patience. Because of that, she seemed to be a completely different person. Sometimes, he even wondered if he was fighting for the same Germany he grew up in as a child. The same Sacred Germany.

When the last day came in the hospital, the doctor came in and told Joanna, "One of the men who was in your Squadron Team in your last battle died this morning."

Joanna lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. He managed to survive the blast with minimal injuries, the same blast that brought you here. However, he was critically injured in combat, took a nasty blow to the head, and he died of internal bleeding just a few hours ago."

A few hours ago Joanna was asleep. It was astounding what could happen while you were idly living life.

"What does this have to do with me?"

"His Lieutenant advises that he would like for _you_ to reward him with a badge of bravery."

"Me? Why me?"

The doctor shrugged. "You survived something that only the strong ones can live through. You're now regarded as one of the bravest Bulgarians in your army sector. And because of that, they respect you."

"So because of that they want me to reward him?" Joanna asked. The doctor nodded.

"But he's dead," Joanna said bluntly.

"Yes, but they feel he earns that award."

_How ridiculous_, Joanna thought. _How can giving a dead person a badge of courage give them glory?_ She kept her mouth shut and only nodded.

"Alright, I'll be right there."

"I promise, after you give it to him, you're free to go."

Joanna nodded. "Thank you for your help. I greatly appreciate it."

The doctor smiled and nodded before leaving the room. She turned and grabbed at the white prim and pressed coat lying on her bed, the right side of the breast decorated with her two badges, and took a great deal of time trying to slip it over her shoulders. Once it was finally draped over her, she pushed her arms through the sleeves and set to work on buttoning it. Her three fingers slipped and fumbled with the cold metal buttons and she was quickly growing frustrated with the lack of coordination and progress. It wasn't until a familiar hand came forward and quickly began slipping the buttons together through their hollows with perfect ease. She looked up to see Ludwig, who didn't seem at all fazed by the fact that she wasn't wearing her eye patch.

"We're helping the crippled now?" she joked tightly. Ludwig managed a small smile, almost done with buttoning her coat.

"Well, it looked like you needed some assistance."

"I didn't," Joanna said a little too harshly. She caught herself. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright."

Once he finished the top button, he straightened out her collar and quickly swiped a hand across her left shoulder, brushing off a stray piece of lint. Joanna softly smiled at a sudden memory of her father on her first day of school. It was a cold day and she was wearing a proper little white fur coat over her bright red dress. Her hair was in one braid drawn down her back. She was skipping down the street, holding her father's hand, and a stray flower fell from one of the surrounding trees onto her shoulder. Her father had leant down to gently brush it away with one hand, but Joanna quickly picked up the flower and placed it in her father's hand, saying it was a gift for him. She can't remember much after that, but all she remembered was that her father laughed and they walked down the peaceful streets of Sofia towards the school. Little did Joanna know that fourteen years later, that school would be demolished during the war. Nothing was left of it now but chunks of concrete and wild stems of barbed wire and cracked metal. How she missed those simpler times as a little girl, playing endlessly without a care in the world.

Coming back to the present, she quietly thanked Ludwig and stepped away from him. She went back to the hospital bed and picked up the black eye patch. At that moment, Neva came through.

"Ready? The car's waiting to take us to Ludwig's."

"Ludwig's?" Joanna inquired.

"Yes," Ludwig answered. "I told your sister that perhaps it would be better if you were to just recover in my family's home in Berlin rather than having you travel all the way back to Bulgaria in your condition."

Joanna nodded. "Alright, that sounds fine." She paused before saying, "Thank you."

Ludwig only nodded. "I'll be outside."

He silently left the room to Neva and Joanna. Neva eyed the black patch in Joanna's hand and came forward.

"Here, let me."

Joanna furrowed her brow. "This doesn't bother you?" she asked, gesturing to her empty eye socket. After all, it was Neva's first time seeing Joanna without a left eye. Joanna had kept the injury smoothly hidden throughout her sister's visits. Neva raised a quizzical eyebrow at Joanna's question.

"No, why would it?" She gently took the eye patch from Joanna's hand. "Turn around."

Joanna obeyed and felt as the black fabric was set firmly over her left eye. She held it there with her remaining hand as Neva set the patch tightly around her head. When Joanna turned to face her older sister, Neva smiled. Joanna was surprised; it was the first genuinely happy smile she had seen on Neva in months.

"You look dashing," she complimented. Joanna wasn't quick enough to hide her smirk.

"Stop lying."

"Why would I lie?" Neva said in a mockingly hurt tone, which only made Joanna smile further. Neva gently stroked her arm.

"I'll be waiting near the car."

Joanna only nodded. She knew that Neva wouldn't like to see a bunch of critically wounded soldiers in one hospital room. Neva left the room as two well-to-do soldiers in German uniform came strutting in. One of them held out a Bulgarian badge and ribbon of bravery, smaller than Joanna's, yet similar looking despite the white ribbon.

"When you're ready."

Joanna said nothing and walked past them, feeling their stares on her metal-bound right leg as she limped out of the room. She could hear the brace make a quiet creaking sound as she walked.

_I'll have to oil it at Ludwig's house_, she thought. Trailed by the two Germans as she walked down the hall, she came across Ludwig, who quickly saluted the soldiers behind her. They returned the salute and resumed walking. Ludwig drifted to her side.

"I'm only going to warn you about my family," Ludwig said. "My grandfather is alright, it's my brother Gilbert you need to be wary of."

Joanna gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Why?"

"Let's just say he's a bit… _unruly_."

"That's alright," Joanna said. "I can handle unruly."

Ludwig looked down at her with stern eyes. "He'll like you."

Joanna looked back up at the tall German. "Why do you say that?"

Ludwig shrugged. "He admires people like you. People who don't hesitant to speak their minds, people who are strong." His voice lowered as they neared the ward of soldiers. "People who aren't afraid."

Joanna mindlessly fiddled with the badge in her hand as the two soldiers from behind made their way to the front and pushed the doors open.

"But I am afraid, Ludwig," she whispered, not sure if he knew what she meant. "Very afraid."

She didn't quite catch the expression in Ludwig's face and instead chose to walk ahead of him into the ward. It was just as she remembered it. Rows upon rows of wounded soldiers, some groaning from the pain of their injuries as others battled through it and chatted with those near them. Some had no legs. Some no arms. Others bound in wheelchairs and others needing permanent guidance from nurses. As soon as Joanna entered the room, all noise died. Every soldier, dying or recovering, turned to face her. The two German soldiers in front of her parted, one of them coming forward and gesturing with his head.

"He's this way."

The thick heels of her combat boots made a deep noise against the white tiles of the floor. The metallic squeaking seemed louder than before and Joanna could feel the stares of soldiers staring her down, absorbing her every move like how a sponge absorbs water.

They gawked at the patch over her eye, at the missing hand and fingers, at the brace permanently clutched to her leg. She tried not to seem flustered from their stares, but couldn't resist staring at some of them angrily in the eye. She distinctly remembered looking at a man about Ludwig's age, maybe a little older, with no arm and a missing foot. He gaped at her as she walked past him, and silently whispered under his breath, "God save us all."

It was so low she wasn't sure if she was meant to hear it or not. She and the soldier leading her came to a stop in the middle of the room to a bed with the headboard propped up against the wall, allowing the sun from the huge window across the room to bask over the body. The soldier stepped back and the room seemed to hold its breath as they looked at the young Bulgarian patriot inspecting the body.

He was young. Perhaps as old as Joanna. He died with his brown eyes wide open. His head was covered in bloody bandages and his body seemed wilted from all the battles on the front. It was just as her doctor said, a member of her Squadron Team. She remembered speaking to him once during training. It was a brief little exchange, but it was one that she remembered. He had said that he had a mother and a little brother waiting for him back home in Bulgaria.

She wondered how they would react when they found out that he wouldn't be coming back to them.

She brought out her hand and softly laid the badge and ribbon over his dead heart. She reached forward with her three fingers and closed his eyes. Then, deciding to send a secret message, she reached into the right pocket of her trousers and fished out two golden lev. She placed both gold coins over his closed eyes.

In Ancient Greece, soldiers often put two golden drachmas over a dead warrior's eyes when he died a glorious death. They were to be used when their spirit reached the Underworld and they would have to pay the ferryman to row them across the River of Styx to Paradise.

_Go on to your Paradise_, Joanna thought. _Go on, brave boy, for you have fought well. You can rest now_.

It wasn't just to praise him, it was to assure him that he fought a battle for _himself_, that he was a true man for standing up for what _he_ believed in despite the fact that the country he had seemed to be fighting for had fell. Still, beliefs were much bigger than countries. The blood of family was much thicker than the mud and snow on the front.

This wasn't to honor a boy who fought for his country.

This was a tribute to a man who stood up for his values. His family. His life.

She stepped back, every eye in the room tracing her, and turned back to the German soldier.

"I'd like to go now."

Her voice echoed out loudly in the large room. She followed the soldier out of the room and was escorted to the front room of the hospital by Ludwig.

"That was something different…" he had said.

"What was?"

"The coins you put on his eyes."

"Oh, you noticed?" Joanna asked indifferently.

"The whole room noticed," Ludwig mumbled. "What did you do that for?"

Joanna shrugged. "I felt he needed more than just a badge."

She came up to the receptionist, who was rummaging through papers. She looked up at Joanna and smiled sweetly. She brought up a clipboard and a pen.

"Please sign your name so we can verify your release."

Joanna looked down at the paper and noticed the lists of names of all the soldiers who had been released that morning. She gently placed the clipboard on the table and held the pen skillfully with her three lingering fingers as she signed her name in her native Bulgarian script.

Йоана Константинова Добрева.

_Joanna Constantinova Dobreva. _

She put the pen down on the clipboard and slid it towards the woman, who looked down to read it, furrowed her brow a bit at the complicated script, then chose to look up with a soft smile.

"Thank you. You can go now."

Joanna said nothing as she walked outside with Ludwig behind her. As she stepped outside into the sunny streets, she breathed in the fresh air and almost smiled as her mind wandered to that memory of her father walking her to school. The times were so different then.

She looked forward to see a big black automobile parked in front of the hospital with her sister leaning against it. It almost looked like a beetle with its hard black shell curving at every angle. She walked forward and Neva turned to open the door.

"Let's go," she said softly. "The train leaves at five."

Joanna ducked her head and slid into the big space, stretching out her legs as she settled into the soft seats. Neva came beside her and Ludwig entered last as he shut the door behind him.

"_Bahnhof, bitte_."

The driver nodded, adjusted his mirrors, and slowly put the car in motion. The soft purr of the motor made Joanna's mind drowsy as the car rocked with a soft motion akin to a mother cradling a child. She brought her three fingers to the window, feeling the cool glass against her fingertips as the trees and buildings whizzed past her in a secular blend of colors. She caught eye of a tall standing red flag with the deadly _swastika_ set in the center. Even now, looking at that terrible symbol gave her a sense of dread. An air of evil had surrounded the entire world suddenly and she felt as if this was only the beginning of something very horrible.

_Bog pomogne na vsichki nas_. God help us all.

* * *

*_Du bist lächerlich__—German for "You are ridiculous!" _

___*__Blagodarya____—Bulgarian for "Thank you."_

_________*__Bahnhof, bitte__________—German for "Station, please."_

_____________________*__Bog e s nas______________________—Motto for the Kingdom of Bulgaria (1908-1946) meaning "God is with us."_

_____________________________________________*__Bog pomogne na vsichki nas______________________________________________—Bulgarian for "God help us all."_


End file.
